


Laundry

by sharkinterviewee



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fun, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Laundry, One Shot, Romance, but also shenanigans, if you thought I didn't have Laundry Day from Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog stuck in my head, the whole time I was writing this then you thought wrong, them being cute together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkinterviewee/pseuds/sharkinterviewee
Summary: He should’ve known. No one offers to do someone else’s laundry without an ulterior motive. He should’ve known.





	Laundry

He thought it was suspicious when she offered to start doing his laundry for him. Just weird. But Gamora was the cleanliest of the bunch, and did like a certain order to things, and preferred to live on a not filthy ship, so it wasn’t, like, _too_ suspicious.

Not like he had a reason to not let her anyway.

She said something about it being simpler and neater, instead of just having a pile of dirty clothes and a pile of clean ones, she could just take his clothes out of the dryer and fold them and put them away as she did the same with her own.

He said she didn’t have to, but she maintained she liked to do it as a sort of calming little ritual, something comfortingly boring and banal as a weekly chore. He couldn’t really argue with that.

Whenever Gamora tried to help him cook, it always ended in disaster. Growing up with ravagers, learning how to make disgusting things palatable, and also knowing which ingredients would kill him or not was pretty much a necessity. Pickpocketing some spices whenever the ravagers were fencing loot at some shady marketplace never hurt much either.

And, with as picky eaters as the guardians (when they could afford to be) that experience came in handy. But the group quickly learned that if Gamora ever tried to give him a hand when making dinner for their rag-tag group, one or more of them would end up with food poisoning.

He completely understood how relaxing and oddly comforting normal family chores could be. Especially when things got crazy. Having little things you regularly do for family members helps when your life is pretty much never normal. Having that routine.

So. Laundry.

He didn’t really have a reason to say no (though he _swore_ there was something more to it than what she claimed).

Plus, whenever he peeked in to check on her when she thought he was off doing something else, she was just smiling to herself and putting their clothes away, actually _humming_ as she flitted around the room, looking so cute and domestic and making his heart flutter with a ridiculous fondness and affection at the sight.

Then, it became normal.

* * *

Of course she had an ulterior motive.

She was cunning and calculative, but so damn convincing that this was just a little affectionate thing for her to do.

He should have known.

He _did_ know, he just couldn’t figure out why or what it was, and just had to drop it.

* * *

Months went by, and eventually he started trying to help her, so they could do it together as a cutesy couple-y thing. But she always seemed weirdly irked, like he was trying to mosey in on her personal activity. Almost glaring at him out of the corner of her eye as he folded his own shirt on the bed beside her as she folded hers.

* * *

“You okay?” He asked, as Gamora was downright glowering, distracted, intent on watching him instead of folding her own shirt that she’d been holding in her hands for the past five minutes.

“You’re not doing it right,” she said, angrily swiping away his pants and refolding them exactly as meticulously as he did moments before (he’d learned from the best, after all).

Peter groaned in frustration- did she have to be so critical of everything he did? He was just trying to be helpful, but she always seemed mad at him whenever he tried to help her with this chore.

She was so particular- everything had to be exact, and even if he had done it perfectly, and the exact same way as her, she wasn’t satisfied unless she was the one who did it.

She had to do everything herself.

After he started helping her with the laundry, he’d walked in on her numerous times in the week in his drawers straightening out his clothes that he already put away days ago, like he couldn’t even put a damn pair of pants in a drawer correctly.

* * *

Not to mention, she was weirdly possessive of his clothes. From _him._ When they were doing laundry. It seemed insane whenever she was barely hiding how pissed off she was when he picked his own freshly cleaned shirt out of the laundry basket to put away, like she wanted to tear it out of his hands and growl at him to stop touching her stuff. (Even though she wasn’t possessive of his clothes any other time _except_ when they were doing laundry, and he was just trying to be helpful. Cause he cared about her, y’know, while she got so irked by him interrupting her routine or whatever).

* * *

It probably would have been easier and better for their relationship conflict-wise if he just let her go back to doing laundry by herself. But he knew there was something more to it, and he could be just as stubborn as her.

Besides, he _liked_ doing laundry with her. It was nice! He could be domestic and cutesy too!

If only she’d let him. Even if she wouldn’t let him. She wasn’t going to butt him out of doing laundry with her. Nuh-uh. No way. This was _their_ thing now.

* * *

It was when he saw her upper lip picking up in a snarl when he grabbed his underwear- his own damn underwear!- that he changed tactics.

Instead of snapping and demanding to know why she was glowering at him from the side looking like a territorial wolf two seconds away from biting him for touching what was _hers,_ Peter let the article of clothing slip through his fingers back into the laundry basket, his sleight of hand making it look like he genuinely dropped it. Rather than fishing it back out again, he instead grabbed a pair of _her_ underpants.

Which she… seemed okay with. Gamora dropped her threatening stance (that she probably wasn’t even aware of), the tension in her shoulders easing when he went to put away her underwear in her drawer instead of his own undergarments.

* * *

Yup, you guessed it.

What might have seemed like a risky move, considering how ridiculously possessive she was of his clothes ( _his clothes!_ ), she was actually more than fine with him touching her clothes.

They were like the only safe bet.

Without being too obvious about it, Peter subtly made the switch over the course of three laundry days to exclusively putting away _her_ clothes.

He didn’t even try to reach for his anymore.

And Gamora happily let him fold her clothes, doing all of his first and only trying to fold her own if she had finished and put away all of his while he was still getting through hers. She didn’t try to race through it or anything. She was fine with leaving all that to him.

And there was no critiquing of his technique when he was putting away her clothes, no fiddling in her drawers throughout the week, no straightening out the piles or whatever she used to do in his drawers.

* * *

After they had settled into this routine of doing laundry together, exclusively folding and putting away the other’s clothes, Gamora actually started humming again! Right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, smiling as they did this disgustingly cute and domestic activity together.

“Shut up,” Gamora told him with a smile, seeing how big his grin was out of the corner of her eye at her humming.

Peter bit his bottom lip, smiling even wider, that little laugh-y breath coming out of his nose, but stayed quiet other than that.

Gamora rested her head against his shoulder then and yup, this was absolutely freakin’ perfect.

* * *

By then, he had a guess as to what it was. But it was pretty baseless. Or really, just based on intuition and nothing else. But everything was fine, so he let it be (for now).

* * *

It was only by coincidence that he found out. By running into one of his former flings at a bar.

Well, that wasn’t a huge coincidence in and of itself. He had a lot of former flings- enough that randomly running into one was a fairly common occurrence even in a galaxy as big as this one.

* * *

The guardians were out celebrating a job well done with a drink (as they often did), when Peter spotted someone he recognized. He actually had to do a double take at first, cause it had been awhile, but he and Aria were an on again off again thing back in the day (read: repeated flings, on good terms when on and off, casual fuck buddies and friends).

“Hey, I know her!” Peter shouted excitedly, speaking of a woman at the other end of the bar.

Gamora bristled at Peter’s happily exclaimed news, knowing that it meant she was one of his former sexual partners. Who he was apparently on good terms with, since most of the time when they ran into someone he used to lay with he’d whisper “I know her” while trying to hide behind Gamora’s back so whoever she was didn’t spot him.

Peter turned to Gamora, smiling all brightly. “I’m gonna go say hi!” He told her, eyes wide and excited like a child running into an old friend, an innocent excitement as he was slightly tipsy and raised his eyebrow at her. “Wanna come with?” He said, offering his arm to her, to introduce her to an old flame of his.

Gamora shook her head, more concentrated on trying not to purse her lips or narrow her eyes at the woman he was referring to at the end of the bar.

Suddenly, Peter leaned in close, lips brushing against her ear. “You know you’re cute when you’re jealous, right?”

Gamora flushed at that, his voice low and making her skin itch in the most wonderful ways.

Peter kissed her cheek, then pulled back to give her a silly little smile.

“You know you don’t have to worry about her hitting on me or anything. That face tattoo means she’s married,” he told her with an impish grin.

Gamora looked back at the woman- she had blue intricate marks on half of her face, whose cultural significance Gamora was unaware of until Peter had told her just now. He was, ugh, well traveled.

Gamora relaxed a bit at the news, but still shook her head. “No, I’m gonna head back to the ship. You have fun reconnecting.”

When she stood up to leave, Peter gave her a quick kiss on the lips that had her heart glowing.

“Love you,” he chirped.

“You too.”

* * *

It wasn’t like Gamora was worried or anything. She trusted him. The jealousy wasn’t out of fear that something would happen. She just… got jealous.

She trusted Peter wholeheartedly, and in fact found it easier to go back to the ship while he went over and caught up with the woman he used to know than to stay at the bar and watch him catch up with her and feeling jealous the whole time. It was easier than coming with him and meeting her too, and hearing him laugh and tell stories with someone he considered a genuine friend while she sat right beside him like some sort of supervisor.

Gamora didn’t need to ease her conscience or anything, she just got jealous and couldn’t help but feel possessive over him from time to time (a lot of the time, actually). She much preferred leaving and trusting him instead of subjecting herself to stewing in jealousy just by being in the presence of one of his former lovers. She still couldn’t help but feel jealous though, so it was nice to know this woman had a mate, and therefore wouldn’t try making a move on hers.

Because Peter was hers. All hers.

* * *

“Peter Quill? Is that you?” Aria exclaimed, pleasantly surprised once she finally placed the hand waving in her face and the voice attached to it that shouted ‘Hiya! Long time no see!’ as she stared at him blank faced for at least five seconds. Maybe ten. Man, he guessed it really had been a long time.

“Yeah! It’s been awhile! You mind?” He asked, nodding to the opposite side of her booth.

“Be my guest,” she motioned to sit down in the empty seat. “What’re you having?” Aria asked, waving over a waiter. “My treat.”

Peter beamed, graciously accepting her offer, because if you couldn’t drink when catching up with old friends, then what was the use of bars anyway?

* * *

Even though it had been years, it didn’t feel like running into someone he hadn’t seen in forever. It was more like catching up with a longtime friend. Aria always was a good drinking buddy back in the day, and that was still true now as they were discussing all the exploits they had gotten into since the last time they drank together.

It was nice just sitting down and chatting and, well, reconnecting, all nice and comfortable and fun as old friends.

* * *

“So you’re married now! Congrats!”

“Yup,” Aria smiled. “Six years. It was pretty funny when the guardians started first making the news. We were watching the coverage on Xandar, and then I saw your face, and the first words out of my mouth were ‘I think I used to have sex with that guy’. She didn’t believe me at first. Now she thinks it’s the funniest in the world and has to tell that story to everyone in the room whenever your team is in the news for saving the galaxy again. But yes, Kazi and I just celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary,” she smiled fondly to herself at the memory.

“Aw, that’s awesome,” Peter said earnestly. “I’m so happy for you. I’m super taken too, now,” he informed her, even though he didn’t have any tattoos on his face to show off. He wasn’t exactly expecting her to be surprised, but he definitely wasn’t expecting her reaction.

“I know,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, actually snorting in amusement. “You have ‘back off’ written all over you,” Aria laughed, waving her hand over his general visage.

He gave her a confused look, obviously needing a bit more of an explanation.

“It’s why I didn’t recognize you at first. I have a good scent memory, you know? You don’t even smell like you anymore. In all my years, I never would have expected _the_ Peter Quill to be the person waving his hand in my face in some random bar, smelling so _attached_ ,” she giggled into her hand, evidently surprised by how much they’d both changed.

“Uh… What?” Peter asked, even more confused.

Aria barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, do you seriously not know? Has someone secretly been marking you? Oh my god, that’s hilarious!”

Aria was laughing so hard, and Peter had a feeling he knew exactly who to blame as he started remembering more about Aria’s species. Like how they weren’t the best with faces, and found it easier to recognize familiar people by scent than by sight.

“I know Terrans don’t have a great sense of smell, but really? You can’t tell? It’s so strong! I swear, I’ve never smelled anyone quite this marked, Quill. Even Kazi isn’t this bad, and she just rubs up all over me whenever the hell she feels like it. I’m surprised she hasn’t started just rolling over in all my clothes to make sure everything smells like her. And she’s one of the most territorial mates in the world. I kinda love it about her, to be honest. But this,” she motioned to him again, “This is a new extreme. Do you know how strongly someone has to smell to be picked up over every other smell in this crowded bar with all these people coming in and out?” She motioned all around them, and yeah, he kinda got the point. “And I can smell each separate article of your clothing. That’s… impressive. Give kudos to your girl. That takes some long term commitment, and it’s gotta be a lot of upkeep. To be this… pervasive. Your jacket’s the strongest. I mean, when was the last time you washed that thing?” Aria asked, definitely getting a kick out of her superior senses. And with that last comment, everything fell in place.

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned into his hand.

* * *

So yes, soon Peter paid his tab, parting ways with his old friend to go confront ‘his girl’.

* * *

The laundry. That’s why. That’s fucking why.

That’s why she always used to be so possessive of his clothes right after they came out of the dryer, but had no problem later in the week when he was wearing his clothes and she acted like a normal person at the thought of him touching _his own clothes,_ when she would practically rip his hand off if he dared lay a hand on his own laundry after it had gone through the wash.

That’s why _she_ had to be the one to fold them and put them away, because being just cleaned meant they didn’t smell like her yet, and she had to get her hands on them and fix that right away.

And when he used to come in and catch her fiddling with the clothes in his drawers when he still tried to put away his own clothes- she wasn’t straightening the clothes in his drawers! She was just touching them! To get her scent on them!

Doing laundry together every week wasn’t a couple’s cutesy chore thing. It was upkeep, to keep his clothes smelling like her, through and through.

Not even smelling like her.

Smelling like _hers._

* * *

Peter burst through the door, finding Gamora sitting on their bed, scrolling through the data pad.

“You!”

“Me what?” Gamora asked without even looking up, sounding bored already.

“You’ve been- marking me! With your scent!”

_That_ had her attention. Though she was clearly trying not to show it as she slowly lifted her head and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his blistering accusation.

“I’ve been what?” She asked, eyes teeming with faux innocence- no, no, no, he wasn’t falling for that.

“You know what,” Peter narrowed his eyes, not having any of it. “‘Nother thing about Aria’s species? Really good sense of smell. Scenting mates and all.”

“She did try to hit on you!” Gamora gasped, like he had lied to her when no, she was the liar.

“No,” he grit his teeth, cause no, she does not get to shift the argument. “No, she was telling me about her wife and when I started to say I was happily taken too she kindly informed me that she could _smell it on me.”_

At that Gamora had the sense to shrink back a little, looking guilty and at least a bit ashamed.

“What’s the problem? It’s true anyway,” she said defiantly.

“What’s true?”

“That you’re mine.”

Peter stared up at the ceiling, hands on his hips as he tapped his foot, then he shook his head. “The problem is you _lying_ to me.”

“I never lied!” She defended. “I just didn’t tell you.”

“Every time I asked you when you started doing our laundry you always said the task was _calming_ or some other excuse, when really you were just employing subterfuge so you could secretly mark all my clothing. You always say it’s just a nice thing you started doing cause you love me and you like the routine of it. Not that you do it as some claiming thing.”

“But it _is_ calming, you smelling like me,” she protested quite petulantly.

Peter only sighed.

“I”m sorry. I’ll… I’ll stop,” Gamora said quietly, her head dipped down, hair falling forward to curtain her face. She was just staring at a space on the bed in front of her, instead of looking at him.

“You don’t have to stop.”

Her head shot up in confusion. “What? I thought you were upset.” Her brows furrowed, trying to understand.

“Yeah, about the lying stuff. I don’t really care about the rest of it. I would’ve said yes it you just asked,” he told her. “And I’m kinda pissed that it took this long for someone to _tell_ me. I mean, doesn’t Rocket have the best nose on the ship? I can’t believe he’s been able to keep quiet about it for this long.”

“I don’t think he can smell it. I don’t think most species can. I do it mostly for myself. Because I like you smelling like me,” she admitted, playing with her sleep shorts almost shyly. “Until now I thought maybe only Zehoberi would be able to pick up on it. Like I said, it’s mostly for me. And I guess whatever species your friend is. Like you pointed out, Rocket has a better sense of smell than I do, but I don’t think he can smell it at all. I find it calming, though.” Gamora picked at the threads at the hem of her shorts, looking actually pretty self conscious and vulnerable, and it was horribly endearing.

“Hey Peter?” She asked without looking up, her voice small and hesitant. “Can we still do laundry together?”

“Ugh, you’re so cute,” he groaned, finally joining her on the bed. “Of course we can still do laundry together, you dweeb.” Peter ruffled her hair, incredibly pleased by how much the routine _did_ mean to her. That she had to ask him if they could keep doing the ritual, even though he knew about the marking and gave her permission to keep doing it, was incredibly telling.

Gamora blushed, pouting, trying to look defiant, but now her hair was all messy and her cheeks bright thanks to embarrassment, jutting out her chin in an attempt to remain dignified, but mostly just looked adorable.

“ _You’re_ a dweeb,” she shot back, not actually remembering how bad that insult was on the scale of things, knowing that it didn’t really matter either.

“Yup,” Peter agreed easily. “Two dweebs in love.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

* * *

And okay, maybe the way they were just sitting together, resting on each other’s shoulders, and Gamora freakin’ holding his hand completely made up for everything.

And maybe it was cliche, them just sitting on the bed, holding hands, and talking for the past hour.

Peter never claimed not to be cliche.

Technically he couldn’t see her expression as she laid his head on her shoulder and held his goddamn hand, but if her voice was anything to go on, her smile was as dreamy and content as his was.

He loved her hands. They were always so warm, steady and sure as she grasped his. Gamora never did anything she wasn’t sure of. Same went for holding hands. She didn’t do any half assed ‘accidentally’ brushing her hand against his (which he did _all_ the time, back before it was okay™, before they were a thing). He could be sure that every time Gamora touched his hand, she damn well meant to.

She had strong hands. Her callouses built up in different places than his own (she was an ambidextrous sword master after all, while he had gun calloused fingers, mostly built up on his right hand). She had thicker skin than him too, which meant that if someone had a something like a jar made of glass that they didn’t want broken (cough cough _Drax_ ) they got her help. She had a good balance of strength, dexterity, and enough awareness to not shatter very breakable things like any time anybody went to the Destroyer to open something.

Which Peter was a-okay with. Like sometimes he’d spend like 15 minutes trying to unseal this really tight thing and only wind up whining to himself and hurting his hands with his thin Terran skin, but that was just him being stupid and wanting to do something for himself and not asking anyone for help. It wasn’t like some emasculating jar opening stereotype.

You see, growing up with ravagers and spending most of his life in space, he was used to humans having relatively thin skin to lots of species, and as such opening tightly sealed things was more of a pain for him.

Growing up with ravagers, it also meant he always had to do everything for himself.

He was still getting used to having someone around who would _always_ open tight jars for him, no questions asked.

It was also nice too (seriously he could watch Gamora open things all day, something he promptly forgets every time he gets in a fight with something sealed cause seriously, he just opened this yesterday, how could it be so hard to open today?!)

Really, he could go on for days about how much he loved Gamora’s hands.

Right now, her fingers intertwined with his, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be holding.

Not to mention Gamora was practically purring as she sidled into his side. Not practically- he swore she actually made this sound that he had no idea she could make before.

Everything was pretty damn perfect as they just, like, cuddled together all soft and warm and _close._

Yeah, she was completely forgiven, no doubt about it. No maybe about it either. And, as her thumb traced soothing circles on the back of his hand, he was pretty sure she knew it too. Completely made up for. Damn, he was so easy.

“I’m supposed to give you her compliments,” Peter sighed, shaking his head at the utter ridiculousness of it all. “Her exact words were ‘impressive’. Like rubbing up against my stuff is a skill or something. She didn’t even _recognize_ me, Gamora. I forgot that about her- super smeller, with this crazy good scent memory, and that’s how she identifies people. And she didn’t even recognize me. Apparently I don’t smell like Peter Quill anymore. I smell like you.”

Gamora raised her head slightly, just enough so he could see the uptick of her smirk and the spark in her eyes. “It’s a talent,” she said, almost preening. And he laughed. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Ugh, she thought it was hilarious too. You know how weird it is to be informed that I’ve been secretly marked, and like, described how extensive it was? I don’t know if she thought she was doing me a favor with my weak ass sense of smell, but amidst laughter she made sure I knew _exactly_ how strong it was, and, like, consistently I was scented. Laughing at me and praising you, like genuine admiration. Trying to explain how impressive it was she could smell your scenting on me over the bar, when I can’t smell anything. How _extensive_ the damage is like she was translating a foreign language. I’m sure it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in my life, but it’s the weirdest thing that’s happened in awhile. Being informed that my significant other has been secretly claiming me by someone I used to have sex with and haven’t seen in years. Thanks for that, by the way. Was a real ball.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

It was only three days later that laundry day rolled around again.

And they folded clothes clothes together, just like normal.

Except this time, he was teasing the heck out of her.

“I never would have done it if I knew you’d be this insufferable,” Gamora said, trying her best to sound annoyed, but he knew better. She was doing that slightly more formal (re:stuffy) voice that she always did when she was trying to sound serious but secretly wanted to smile at Peter’s quite hilarious antics, if he didn't say so himself. He could see her poorly pursed lips that were just begging to be brought into a smile.

“Yeah, well that’s what you get,” he smirked, waddling up one of his shirts and tossing it to her. She caught it, then blushed.

She’d been pretty self conscious the whole time they been doing laundry, now that he knew. Also, he noted with a small smile, now that he knew, she was also not trying to hide it as much as she used to. He’d never even see her do it before. He’d never caught any surreptitious movements before. She just folded clothes. Now, though, she was a bit more direct.

Being more indulgent, you could say. Or, like, allowing slip ups.

As in Gamora blushing and trying to subtly rub the sleeves of some of his shirts on her inner wrist, and hell yeah, he noticed, and she pointedly ignored him.

“Do you really still have to do it after all this time? Hasn’t it like soaked into the fabric by now?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“I like you smelling fresh,” she answered, looking very put out and also very cute (seriously, every time she pouted, he just wanted to kiss her). “Smells best that way.”

“Oh, is that so?” He batted his eyelashes, and Gamora snorted.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

It wasn’t until he got hit upside the face with a bundled up pair of pants that he regretted his words. His _challenge._

Even though she was obviously the only person in the room who could have thrown it at him, when he whipped his head to her, Gamora’s eyes were big and wide in faux-shock like she had no idea who could have started a laundry war when he just got hit in the face with pants.

Peter balled up his own ammo with a menacing chuckle. “Oh, it is on.”

* * *

Turns out, it took twice as long to do laundry when you were throwing it at each other. Who could have known?

And it just multiplied the chores. Because once they were out of things to throw at each other, clothes were strewn this way and that, on the floor, hanging off the dresser, caught on Gamora’s sword mount on the wall, and something even got hooked in the air vent (Peter’s not gonna lie, that was impressive).

“How did this even get up here?” He asked, as Gamora balanced on top of his shoulders, trying to unhook the thing, because just tugging on it was only going to bring the air vent down with it. “You have like the best aim ever. Were you throwing straight up?” He was incredulous to say the least.

“I didn’t do it. All my clothes hit _my_ target,” she said pointedly.

“I could drop you, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gamora easily called him on it, not even blinking an eye as she continued trying to unhook or unweave the damn thing. She couldn’t even tell whose it was. It was this red little knit thing that also had some weird latching mechanism, and she didn’t recognize it at all. Out of his or her clothes, and they did their laundry together every week.

Whenever she got more of it through the vent, it was covered in dust. Much dustier than something that had gotten into that vent recently.

“Oh come on, you know _I_ can’t wedge something that far into a freaking air vent. That was like shoved in there. I’m not strong enough to jam something up there just by tossing it in the air. That’s gotta be you, sister.”

As she leaned forward to get a better look at what her hands were unentangling, Peter automatically leaned with her, his arms around her thighs tightening as he balanced her weight on top of him, like this was something they did every week.

She gave another sharp tug when she thought she got most of it, and the rest of it was layered even thicker with dust, if that was even possible.

“This thing is covered in dust,” she said distastefully, suddenly wary of what she was now touching. “I don’t think this was either of us, Peter. I think it might have come with the ship. God, when did this get up here?”

It was filthy. And still unidentifiable.

One last yank and Gamora exclaimed in victory when it finally pulled free, and Peter let her down onto the bed. She promptly held what had to be a glorified rag in his face, and Peter sneezed from all of the dust- it was so bad it was practically an assault charge waving it in people’s faces.

Yeah, that definitely hadn’t gotten up there today.

“Ew, what is that?” He squeamed away from unidentified fabrics, before curiosity got the best of him and he took it from her to inspect.

They both peered down at it in his hands as he tried to clear the dust away.

It was like a knit bandana almost, with some metal hooks that had actually started rusting by the looks of it.

“Is that… is that the thing they gave you on Melpomene?” Gamora asked, finally (maybe) placing it. And once he oriented it right, it started looking like the bizarre hat thing that it used to be.

“It is!”

“Wasn’t that a year ago?”

“Yes, yes it was.”

“Yeah, that must have been me,” Gamora conceded. She had probably thrown it up backhanded after taking the ridiculous thing off his head before having sex. It really was the only explanation. Good riddance.

“You’re getting rid of it again, right?”

“Right away.”

* * *

“Hey Peter?” Gamora asked softly as they _finally_ finished putting away their clothes. Laundry fight was a bad, time consuming idea (she started it, though)

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to say… thanks.” She was smiling to herself as she closed the dresser drawer, just standing in front of it instead of turning to look at him. He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and effectively hugging her from behind.

“For what?”

She didn’t answer at first, instead choosing to close her eyes and lean into him, which he was more than fine with.

“For… for doing laundry with me,” she murmured. “I… I like it.”

Peter smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“I love you too, Gamora.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come on, you _know_ Peter would watch Gamora open jars all day if he could.


End file.
